


The Real Problem

by I_Do_Stuffs_Online



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Season/Series 04, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 13:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Do_Stuffs_Online/pseuds/I_Do_Stuffs_Online
Summary: It was too clean. The ending. Nothing ever ends like that, especially not for Sherlock and John. They can't just run off into the city happily and not expect something to be wrong. Something was off, very off. The only thing that last seemed real was the gunshot from the lost Holmes child delivered onto John Watson.





	The Real Problem

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not particularly a fan of the “Sherlock is gay!” theory. I believe him to be more of a sapio/demisexual so please don't throw a fit. This is just a little thing that I wrote a while ago. More notes at the end. Also, sorry if the summary was a bit vague; I'm not very good at writing them.

They ran out the building in unison, John Watson behind Sherlock Holmes, both rushing from some unnamed peril. In that moment everything seemed to slow down, it felt as if there were no loose ends to take care off and everything was back to the way it was supposed to be. The image of the two men running begins to fade to black moments after the familiar voice monologues over their actions. “My Baker Street Boys, Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.” she had said bitter-sweetly as if it were an ending of a great television show. That was supposed to be it, but just like with every other pushed ending it felt off. The image returned and everything that had led up to it rewinded. All the memories flew backwards: the two men taking care of Dr. Watson’s daughter, Sherlock Holmes saving his sister and Dr. Watson, the emotional hell that occurred in the Sherrinford Asylum, their entrance into the asylum and the explosion that triggered it, the extraction of information they gathered from the eldest of the Holmes siblings, and suddenly it went dark, the only sound was the ringing of a gunshot.

John had been in a coma for over five weeks now and according to the doctors showed no sign of improvement. The damage from the gunshot wound had been to severe, made even worse that he was shot at point blank range. Sherlock stood over the comatose man in silence. Tears streamed down the detective's face which he quickly wiped away in fear of the other man waking up and seeing him. Stupid thought. It wasn't likely John was going to wake up. They never do, not with a brain injury this bad. Thoughts of how and why were the only things Sherlock thought about these days. My doctor. Why would she do this to my doctor? He joked bitterly that if his sister really wanted his attention she could’ve just phoned. No one was there to tell him that his joke was ill-advised anymore. 

Sherlock had spent the last five weeks with John awaiting his awakening. Barely eating or sleeping. He looked exhausted, his hair was longer and more untamed than usual, he had extreme dark circles below his eyes, the 5 o'clock shadow he had been sporting a few weeks prior turned into a messy beard, and he was practically bare bones with a dirty coat on. The doctors had been trying to get him to sleep or eat, but one look from his tired bloodshot eyes and a few hurtful deductions sent them scuttling off. He just wanted to be left alone with John. Mrs. Hudson would occasionally come by to beg Sherlock to seek some help, which never worked, and to see how John was doing. Nothing had changed. 

Everyone had begged Sherlock to pull himself together, even Irene Adler whose words only threw him deeper into the abyss. She made him feel guilty, which he didn't quite understand and that frustrated him to the greatest extent. Not understanding. He seemed to be dealing with that a lot more as of late. The saying “You never know how much you love something until you lose it” had always been ludicrous to him before, but now sounded like gospel. He always cared for John, much more than he would ever care to admit, but he truly did. Seeing him like this, all the things he has never had the chance to say, everything was keeping him tethered to that room. 

“John Watson, you have survived an actual war, I swear if my little sister playing with her toys kills you I will be very... disappointed.” Sherlock said softly to the sleeping man. “Rosie is fine, by the way, Molly and Mrs. Hudson are watching her. They say she's beginning to try to stand up, I frequently receive pictures of her progress. She has your eyes and smile, she's… gorgeous.” Sherlock barely croaked out the last bit before breaking out into a sob. “John… I- I miss you, so much. I had just got you back when all of this happened. I never got a chance… or I did, I've had several chances, just I've never taken the chance and now you're here, lying in this bed, until god knows when. I just want you to know what I've always wanted you to know, I, uh, I love you.” After saying the words Sherlock sat there quietly. What if he heard me? What if he wakes up and remembers? What would his reaction be? Will he be angry, disgusted, or… happy? 

A week had past since Sherlock had revealed his long held feelings toward the doctor and now, more than ever, was sure he wasn't going to wake up. He sat back in the hospital chair right by John’s bed and wept. None of the treatment seemed to be working. John wasn't brain dead, in fact whenever he was put into an MRI the pictures it brought back were bright and full of color, the only problem was that John couldn't seem to wake up. They shot up his body full of whatever waking agent they could find in an attempt to have him regain consciousness. Sherlock was always there, watching whatever procedure the doctors had concocted to bring John back. John had seized a few times and watching him like that only brought Sherlock more pain. Alone in that room with John he finally slept for what felt like the first time in weeks, the crying had worn him out. 

John stirred for a moment, unfamiliar to where his body was. It felt like a bed, which was not the last place he remember being. He tried opening his a eyes and found that one was covered in gauze. He brought his arm up to his face and touched the eye covered in gauze and the gesture was meet with the sound of a painful squish. He immediately put his hand down and decided to scan the room. He saw Sherlock cradled in the hospital chair deep in sleep and attempted to reach out to him to no avail. His throat was dry and couldn't make any noise, each attempt to yell more painful then the last. He finally saw the help remote and reached for it. He desperately hit the button and a nurse immediately came rushing into the room. The look of shocked surprise from the nurse as soon as she saw John gave him the sinking feeling that he had been gone for a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been written for a while now and I'm not sure if I want to continue. It was a little thing written after 'The Final Problem' had premired and I wasn't to happy with it so I made my own. It's my first work on this website and I'm not too sure how much I even like my own writing to be able to continue, but comments are always appreciated. The whole coma story line always seemed a bit too cliche for me, but after 'The Final Problem' cliche seemed like the better route. I don't want to say this is how it should have gone, but this is how my brain attempted to rid itself of the final episode. I hope you enjoyed and comments/criticisms are very much encouraged!


End file.
